


Little Death

by edibleflowers



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distracted question-and-answer session.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" and "Sleeper" in S2, but no specific spoilers.
> 
> Originally posted on March 1, 2010, on my Livejournal.

"What's it like?" Ianto asks.

Lifting up on an elbow, Jack blinks at him. "What's what like?" he repeats.

Ianto shakes his head abruptly and shifts, rolling over on his side. "Nothing," he says.

Jack reaches for the sheets and draws them up, sliding in against Ianto at the same time. It's late, and he knows Ianto will sleep soon -- after the long day and the enthusiastic sex, even Jack's feeling tired. But Ianto had seemed a little preoccupied even in the middle of lovemaking, and Jack can guess what it is now.

Over dinner, they'd talked -- briefly -- about Jack's inability to die. It had come as part of the tail end of Jack's careful opening up of his life. There are still many things Jack finds it impossible to talk about: the Doctor's abandonment of him; the betrayal he felt when he was told that the Doctor couldn't fix him; the year of torture at the hands of the Master. But he can talk about how it happened that he can't die, and he did, earlier tonight. Ianto's face had reflected shock at the mysticism of it, and he supposed he didn't blame him. If it hadn't happened to him, Jack would put little stock in the tale.

"It hurts," Jack says, now, voice soft against Ianto's shoulder. "Every time."

"Tell me," Ianto murmurs. His hand clasps Jack's and draws it around himself.

"Imagine dragging yourself naked over broken glass," Jack says, his fingers tracing an absent pattern on Ianto's belly. "You have no choice, you can't stay where you are. And where you're going is better than where you are. But you still have to go over the glass to get there."

Ianto makes a quiet sound, sympathetic, nudging himself back into the cradle of Jack's body. Jack feels himself stir, Ianto's arse warm and round against his soft cock.

"But you come back," Ianto says.

"Every time so far." Jack's hand drifts lower, teasing into wiry, curled hair. Ianto shudders.

"Do you remember them all?"

"Used to," Jack says, his mouth at Ianto's ear now, tickling the fine soft skin. "Used to count every one of them. Then I had to make myself forget." Ianto's cock, rising, nudges his hand with pebbly smooth skin. Jack leaves off the exploration of Ianto's lower belly to stroke his fingers along that delicious line of muscle, which obligingly twitches. Ianto gives an accompanying moan, low, throaty.

"What was the first one?" Ianto asks, his voice significantly raspier.

Jack finds himself grinding his cock into the line of Ianto's beautiful arse. He's still open, Jack knows, and for a crazed moment he's tempted to just push his cock down to the right angle and shove hard.

"Tell me," Ianto says, insistent. Swallowing hard, Jack pulls his hand away from Ianto and gropes under the pillow for the crumpled tube.

"Ellis Island," Jack replies, smearing lube over his cock. "1892. Well, technically--" His breath catches and he moans as he presses himself to Ianto again. "Technically the first time was on the Game Station, when Rose brought me back to life."

"Not that one, then." Ianto's breath hitches. "The Ellis Island one."

He can't talk for a moment. The head of his cock pops into Ianto's body in a sudden blinding moment of pleasure, and they both groan. "Ellis Island," Jack says again, when he finds his voice. "Got in a fight with a man. Thought it was a fistfight. He pulled a gun." He's trying to pace himself, to make the stroke long and smooth; his still-slippery fingers cover Ianto again, and just like that, something clicks; he starts to move, almost as if he can't control the whims of his body. "I remember thinking, 'Jesus Christ, I've been _shot_ ,' and it hurt like you wouldn't believe--"

Ianto's laugh is punctuated by a moan. "And?" he prompts. Jack realises he's lost the narrative for the simpler rhythm of fucking. He swallows hard, closing his eyes to try to focus. It doesn't help.

"Woke up," Jack says, when he can manage it again. "Hours later. In a -- in a morgue, fuck!" He's slipping faster now, can't seem to make his hips slow down. As much as he loves fucking Ianto slow and hot, sometimes he needs to mindlessly lose himself in Ianto. This is clearly one of those times. "So disoriented, I didn't know what was, what was happening, they'd taken my clothes..."

"S-such a hardship for you," Ianto says, and Jack bites his shoulder.

"Behave," he growls.

The full-body tremor that goes through Ianto shakes itself into Jack, and he tightens his grip on Ianto's cock. "Thought," Ianto gasps, "thought you liked it better when I didn't. What happened after that?"

"I, I scared the morgue attendant shitless," Jack says, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, just to hear the helpless sound Ianto makes. He hungers for that noise, low-pitched and raw, honey over stone. "Then I stole my clothes back and left. I didn't understand what happened. Not then."

"When?" Ianto says. Jack mouths at Ianto's neck.

"Fourteen deaths later," he mutters. "Torchwood Cardiff found me."

"A-Alice Guppy," Ianto says. "And Emily Holroyd."

"Shut up," Jack says, "you're still thinking too clearly," and Ianto laughs but doesn't protest when Jack picks up the pace with hips and hand. It's fast after that, both of them given over to the mindless pleasure; every thrust is harder than the last, it seems like, until Jack clutches Ianto and spends himself in a scream.

Ianto's hand clasps his, both of them still holding to Ianto's softening cock, and Jack draws in a hard breath, letting it out against Ianto's nape to feel him shiver.

"Stay," Ianto whispers. Whether it means in his bed or in his arse, Jack doesn't know, but he's glad to be asked, and he smiles.

"Long as you let me," he whispers.


End file.
